The Calling of the Dead
by Belamancer
Summary: When Harry starts to hear voices even his friends think he's cracking up, but it's far worse than that...Set after HBP major spoilers and more interesting stuff to come. New chapter up! Huzzah!
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: **SPOILERS for the Half-Blood Prince. Character death.

**Rating: **English version age 15, rating T.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and all related characters that appear in J.K.Rowling's books are the property of J.K.Rowling and affiliates, of which I am neither. Any other original characters that appear in this fic are my moral, if unintellectual, property. I am not making money or fame from this fanfiction. If I was I'd be able to afford a damn spellchecker.

**Summary: **Hearing voices in your head is bad, even for wizards. When Harry starts hearing whispers he thinks he's cracking up, but it isn't untill he begins to hear what they're saying that he books himself into St. Mungo's

Harry Potter and the Calling of the Dead

Prologue

No one came to the top fields anymore. They'd originally been part of the old school's playing fields, attached to the Muggle comprehensive that nearly all the local children went to. Now they were shunned. Even the most desparate of dog-walkers wouldn't bring little Rexy-poos here.

It had been the same for nearly twenty years now, give or take; the place had gotten itself a reputation. None of the locals knew how it had happened. Twenty-four years ago there had been a series of murders in the area. People had dissapeared without a trace, turning up weeks later dead for no apparant reason. Other people reported strange lights and noises over the fields, although strangely no-one ever quite managed to investigate. Legend had it that they happened on the scrubby grass of the old top fields, that some madman had dragged the unfortunate victims up there, but legend was wrong. Few people knew this, and of all those who knew the truth only one had ever bothered to come back to the scene.

The one who had returned climbed the fields slowly, heading for a spot only he could recognise. Black cloth and hair rippled in the breeze as he made his way through a small clump of trees to a quiet, secluded spot. It was quiet, it was sunny. Bees buzzed around flowers, birds sang. The tall thin man in the black cloak took it off quietly, without fuss, to reveal hard-wearing robes that probably were once as black as the cloak. They had faded to a dull grey now, and were soon spattered with brown mud as he began to dig at the earth in the clearing with a small trowel.

After an hour of obviously back-breaking labour he had a very shallow rectangle, about six feet long and two foot wide, and he wasn't impressed. He was also, from the tip of his over-sized nose to the hem of his frayed robes, covered in mud. Angrily he flung the trowel aside and, drawing his wand from his pocket, made a complex curving gesture. A six foot by two foot by six foot cuboid of earth neatly removed itself from the shallow pit he'd dug, creating a neat trench into which he carefully placed his black cloak. A white object was held up to the light and revealed to be a plain blank mask before being consigned to the trench. Standing on the edge of the trench, staring down into it as if seeing far more than it's peculiar contents, the man drew his wand for the last time and stared at it thoughtfully before snapping it neatly in two. He flinched as he did so, but still tossed the pieces into the trench and looked at them lying there, so innocent seeming and harmless, before he climbed in after them.

The bright noonday sunlight shone off long greasy black hair as he carefully placed a small white envelope up behind his head out of the way. Leaning back in the grave, Severus Snape, the last to carry the noble blood of Princes, drew a small silver knife from the pocket of his robes and shut his eyes.

If he said any last words they were quiet ones, to be drowned out by the singing birds and buzzing bees.

Wizards do not have Last Rites; judging be their behaviour few believe in the existence of the soul. Nevertheless, all strive to have the Last Word.

That's the prologue, there'll be more soon.

Apologies to Sarah, who already knows sort of what's going to happen. I'm afraid I changed the order of things, but they're all in there somewhere and some more besides.


	2. The Wedding

**Warning: **SPOILERS for the Half-Blood Prince.

**Rating: **English version age 15, rating T.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and all related characters that appear in J.K.Rowling's books are the property of J.K.Rowling and affiliates, of which I am neither. Any other original characters that appear in this fic are my moral, if unintellectual, property. I am not making money or fame from this fanfiction. If I was I wouldn't be posting it here for free, now would I?

**Author's note:** Thanks for reviewing guys. Sorry if you've been misled, THIS IS NOT A HARRY/SNAPE FIC! All of you who're just hanging around waiting for smut, shove off! Anyway, in case you didn't notice Snape is dead, and no matter how much you pervert the characters necrophilia is Just Not Right. Be told.

**Summary: **Hearing voices in your head is bad, even for wizards. When Harry starts hearing whispers he thinks he's cracking up, but it isn't untill he begins to hear what they're saying that he books himself into St. Mungo's

Harry Potter and the Calling of the Dead

Chapter 1: The Wedding

It started half way through Bill and Fleurs wedding, a maddening quiet rustling like the wind in distant trees. Harry surreptitiously stuck his finger in his ear during the ceremony and wiggled it about, but it made no difference. The sound seemed to be coming from inside his head, and it was incredibly irritating. It got louder as the day wore on, so much so that he was straining to hear when Fleur finally said "I do.".

He managed to congratulate Bill when it was over and they'd made their way back into the house. The Weasleys had really gone to town on the decorations - there were sparkling, moving banners pinned up everywhere, depicting the happy couple. Mrs Weasley seemed happier about the whole thing now, although Harry did notice her frowning slightly at one banner where Fleur had moved to the front. Harry sat down with Ron, Hermione and Ginny and tried to listen to their conversation, hoping they wouldn't expect him to respond. The feelings of goodwill and kinship that the ceremony had evoked quickly evapourated as Ginny slouched into a chair, complaining about her bridesmaid's dress.

"I mean look at it! She deliberately made me look fat! I look like a pink dumpling." she continued. Hermione smiled.

"Well you couldn't expect her to spend as much time on your dress as she did her's." she pointed out with a nod at Fleurs extravagant silk meringue.

"I know, but she didn't have to make it this bad. It makes me look awful." Ron groaned.

"You look fine." Ginny glared at him.

"You're only saying that because you're my brother and you want me to shut up about it!" Ron sighed.

"Harry, for god's sake tell her she looks fine." He nudged Harry, who started visibly. He hadn't heard a word of it, and the rustling sound had gotten so loud it was giving him a headache.

"What?" he mumbled. Ron stared at him.

"Are you okay?" Harry squinted at him. He was sure he'd seen his lips move.

"Sorry, what did you say?" he ventured. Now Hermione was frowning at him.

"Harry, do you feel alright? You've gone very pale." Harry shook his head, and regretted it when his headache redoubled in strength.

"I don't feel so good. Got a headache." He managed.

"Do you want a glass of water?" Ginny asked, concerned. Harry just blinked at her. He couldn't hear anything except the rustling noise. It didn't quite sound like trees anymore, it was more like a roar of white noise.

"Harry?" He knew Hermione had said his name, he saw her lips move, but the headache had reached such an intensity he couldn't move. He could barely see her now, as though she stood behind a veil of grey. He pushed his chair back and stood up...

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Harry grinned and pushed the nose of his firebolt even higher, aiming for the top of the wispy clouds. It had been ages since he'd just flown like this, without a care or a worry. No Quidditch, much as he loved the game, just the endless freedom of the skies. He laughed as the broom broke through the top of the cloudscape and he was bathed in the warm sun. And it was warm, hot even though he was so high that the lack of air was making him dizzy. Too hot, even.

The sun began to burn him so that it was a relief to drop below the cooling clouds. They whispered up past him, thicker and colder than before, the rush as he got closer to the ground getting louder and louder. He tried to pull the broom upwards again to slow the fall but couldn't. He clutched desparately to the handle and it began to spin as it fell, making him feel unpleasantly dizzy and sick. The damp air made his skin clammy, but was unexpectedly warm. A distant someone shouted his name and he managed to turn his broom to follow the familiar voice.

The clouds were confusing him; now he had no sense of direction, not even up or down. The only direction he could find was the sound of voices distantly talking. He heard a distant voice call out "Harry!" again, and he directed the stick to what he had now decided was 'up'.

The clouds got thinner and the rushing sound faded to a background murmer as he rose through the damp warm fog. He heard other familiar voices now, talking somewhere - above him? It was very strange, he thought, that they should be there. Perhaps they had come looking for him.

He looked down, trying to see without dropping back into the cloud. He couldn't see anything but suddenly another voice he almost recognised gave a loud shout;

"Potter! Get-". Whatever else it said was lost as Harry kicked his broom up further. Noone he liked, noone he cared about, certainly noone who cared about him, called him Potter.

He rose quickly through the warm muggy clouds into a sunlight so bright he had to screw up his eyes against it. A sunlight that seemed oddly flickering...

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It was the candlelight flickering across his face that woke him. Harry sat up slowly and was rewarded with an enthusiastic cry of "He's awake!" from Ron, sat on the end of his bed. A bushy brown shape jumped up off the floor, and hugged him carefuly, revealing itself to be an upset Hermione. She thoughtfully handed him his glasses and stood back a little nervously.

"Hey, er." Ron grinned awkwardly at him. "You all right?" Behind him Hermione 'tch'd and rolled her eyes.

"Um." Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't feel dizzy or sick anymore, but his ears were ringing and he couldn't feel his legs. "I can't feel my legs." He muttered, trying not to sound too worried and failing.

"Oops, sorry mate!" Ron sprung up from the bed and allowed Harry to rescue his pins-and-needles stricken feet.

"Do you want a glass of water?" Hermione asked, in her special 'talking to the invalid and convalescent' voice that Harry especially couldn't stand.

"No. Thanks." He added, trying not to seem ungrateful. Hermione stood up.

"Right, well, it's very late so I think we should all get to bed and we'll just see how you feel in the morning Harry. I'm sure you'll feel better." she added confidently.

"What!" Ron protested loudly, making Hermione glare at him. "We don't even know what's wrong with him yet! It could be anything." Now they were both glaring at each other, and Harry groaned inwardly. When they'd first started going out Harry had mentioned to Hermione that she and Ron were arguing more than ever, and she'd responded with the rather grandiose statement that she and Ron 'were defining the limits of their relationship'. Ron had replied that she sounded more like she was trying to define the limits of her vocal range, and that had sparked off another row.

"Harry." Hermione said, sounding like the queen of all things sensible, "I know you've had a busy day, why don't you tell us what happened and then we can get to bed?" Harry looked from her concerned expression to Ron's suddenly interested one bewildedly.

"What do you mean, what happened? You should know, you're not the one who was unconcious for - how long?" Hermione shook her head and Ron answered.

"'Bout five hours. You mean it wasn't, er, You-Know-Who?" Harry looked from him to Hermione.

"We thought V-Voldemort might have done something. We thought it was your scar again." Harry thoughtfully rubbed his scar, which had'nt so much as itched all day.

"No, my scar's fine." The rustling noise got louder as he spoke. "There's a sort of, like, ringing in my ears." he managed, then wished he hadn't at Hermione's alarmed expression.

"Have you had any accidents recently, hit your head or anything? Did you have much to drink at the wedding? Have-"

"No." Harry cut her off abruptly. "I haven't hit my head, I'm not drunk, I haven't had any accidents."

"But you've got tinnitus." Harry frowned at her. "Your ears are ringing." Hermione elaborated.

"Not exactly ringing. More sort of - rustling" Now Hermione just looked confused.

"I've never heard of anything like that. Maybe-"

"Maybe he should see a Healer, instead of having you guess at him." Ron interrupted, and retreated under the force of their combined glare.

"I don't need to see-"

"I was not-" Ron waved his hands placatingly.

"Okay, okay. I just thought,- what? What's wrong?" Harry had clutched his head suddenly as the rustling sound in his ears built up to pain threshold again. It sounded less and less like trees now, more like waves ebbing and flowing, or the murmur of distant conversation.

"It's just-" he managed, unconciously raising his voice over the sound "It's gotten louder- I can't hear." He screwed up his face as it reached an unpleasantly high volume and tried to make out what Ron had said. "What?"

Hermione reached out and grabbed his hand and the sound dropped off sharply and was gone. Harry gave a sigh of relief.

"What did you say Ron?" Ron shook his head.

"I didn't. I didn't say anything." Harry shook his head, opened his mouth to speak and shut it again with a snap as a voice just behind his left shoulder said '_Hearing voices, Potter?'_

He turned in the bed only to come face to face with the headboard. There was noone behind him, and Ron and Hermione both looked bewildered.

"Did you hear that?" They both shook their heads.

"What was it?" ventured Hermione.

"I thought somebody said something." Harry muttered, distracted. _'I wouldn't describe what goes on in your brain as **thought**, Potter.'_ Harry couldn't help but turn to look again. Definitly nothing there. He checked behind the headboard.

"Harry, what _are _you looking for?" Hermione looked really worried now. Harry shrugged, faking a calm he didn't possess.

"I don't know. I heard someone say something." His calmness clearly didn't impress Hermione, who looked alarmed at the very thought.

"There's noone else here, Harry. Ron did you hear anything?" Ron shook his head.

"You don't think- it can't be another basilisk, can it?" Ron looked into the corners of the room, as if they might somehow have missed a giant sixty foot long serpent. Harry shook his head.

"It's not speaking in Parseltongue, it's not a snake." Hermione frowned.

"It couldn't be Voldemort, could it? Using occlumency?" Harry started to speak but was interupted by

'_Oh yes, thegreat and powerful Dark Lord using his fearsome skills of occlumency to insult a 17 year old. I thought Granger was supposed to be the intelligent one?'_ Harry coughed.

"Didn't you hear that?"

"You don't mean you coughing, do you?" Asked Ron. Harry shook his head, unable to speak as the voice continued. _'Yet another intellectual gem from Mr Weasley.' _

"Um. I heard someone." Ron looked worried.

"Hearing voices really isn't good, Harry. Maybe Hermione's right-"

"Thank you!" she snapped irritably.

"-You should go see a Healer." Harry shook his head, annoyed.

"I don't need-" and stopped. '_Of course you don't need to see a Healer. For everyone else hearing voices is the first sign of a mental breakdown, but now not you Potter. Everyone knows you're **specia**l. Obviously the saviour of all the wizarding world couldn't possibly have a normal mental state. Perhaps_-' "ALRIGHT!" he shouted furiously, and was rewarded with Ron and Hermione's shocked expressions. He lowered his voice, remembering that they didn't even know why he was shouting. "I think you're right. I'm gonna go to ST Mungo's." Hermione nodded, still shaken.

"I really think that's a good idea, Harry. I'll help you pack in the morning." Harry shook his head at her.

"I'm going now, this won't wait 'till morning." Hermione opened her mouth to say something sceptical and Harry cut her off. "If I have to listen to this-" he pointed to his left ear as the cause of all the trouble "-All night, I'll go mad." He wished he hadn't said it the second he shut his mouth and saw Ron's expression. He certainly didn't need the voice's affirmation; '_They think you already have.'._

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End of chapter. Look out for the next one soonish maybe perhaps if I can be bothered and am encouraged by reviews (even criticism is better than nothing).

Belamancer.


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